Tuesday, May 23, 2017

BYB re-stacked

The bitter irony was that not 24 hours beforehand I'd bragged about how me and the BYB were in sync like me as a 12-year-old in sync with my then bike.

I grew up in a town that you could get anywhere to on a bike within 40 minutes and it was the '80s so you and your bike would vanish during the day then appear again around darkness. No contact; presumed okay.

You'd fly down the steepest of hills with only a pedal brake to protect you; you'd ride a long way out of town, kays down dusty roads, into the fucking bush sometimes just because you could.

You and your bike were as one.

Me and this bike are not yet as one. I thought we were but we’re not. The BYB is a trike, which has many advantages but also plenty of disads; with three wheels comes added complication.

I was tooling along a footpath when it happened—because the footpath was subsumed by a driveway that went at forty-five degrees to the entry road. The BYB, being wheels of three, meant one wheel went up the incline.

I made nearly all the way across but the bins were in the way on the path and even though I counter tipped I still tipped—nice and slow—forward into the road from the pavement. It was a blind curve and because it was a settled McMansion suburb of Canberra then the typical car that would likely come along to squish me would be a giant not-needed-in-the-capital SUV and one capable of not seeing even me.

I banged up my shoulder, forearm, lower leg and got grazed through my jumper along my elbow. My helmet and gloves protected me from worse. 

It took seeming forever to get from under the bike then crawl to my feet. No car came along to hit me but also no one stopped to help—but I’m not sure if I was seen. Then it was the limping and the wheeling of the bike until I got around the blind curve and could safely mount to cross.

I was not in sync with my bike—or rather, trike. And that was the problem—that extra wheel. It still takes getting some used to.

Even now I still bash into the fence or plinth on the gap path into my street because I’ve gone a fraction too one direction to compensate for my bigger bike bum of two wheels and a tray.

I recognise that outside riding with motion, cars and roads is a risk but it’s a risk accepted. Riding a bike outside, going the distance and going with speed is insanely great compared to the laborious slog of the SoTPC.

I had a day off to heal and it’s back on the BYB on the morrow. So I nearly died again—big whoop; add it to the fucking list of the nearly done me ins.


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